


In the Eye Abides the Heart

by idoltina



Series: Our Hands Over Our Eyes [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Blindness, Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life ends as it begins -- in the dark. Everything in between is shades of black and white and color, and Blaine’s eyes do what they have always done -- follow his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eye Abides the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** adult language, allusions to sex, **major character death** , graphic depictions of grief, graphic description of a dead body, mentions of canonical gun violence, mild dominant/submissive dynamics, references to canonical infidelity
> 
> [ [FANMIX](http://8tracks.com/idoltina/our-hands-over-our-eyes) ]

Blaine wakes up on a cold, early November morning to the sound of rain. He lets out a soft groan at the ache in his knees and joints; his arthritis is acting up again, probably due to the weather. He clings to Kurt’s hip a little tighter and snuggles in close, resigning himself to what will probably be a difficult day for his mobility. Damn knee replacements. With a deep inhale, Blaine sleepily blinks his eyes open --

It’s pitch black.

Blaine frowns, rubs the sleep from his eyes and props himself slightly on one elbow. He looks around the room and wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t bother reaching for his glasses; instead, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, hand fumbling in the dark. But there’s no light coming from his phone, either, despite the prompting of his fingers. He swears it was fully charged when they fell asleep last night. Unnerved, he tries to check his voicemail -- the automated recording prompts him for his password and he hangs up, setting the phone down gently. This isn’t making any sense -- the power outage and the dark and the screen on his phone malfunctioning and he doesn’t understand why he can’t _see_ \--

He can’t see, which makes him think that maybe the problem is with him and not the rest of the world, and -- oh.

_Oh_.

* * * * *

_The world keeps spinning._

 _Blaine still gets up in the morning, still gets dressed and slicks his hair back and attends his classes. The rest of the student population moves around him, the constant pitter-patter of their guide dogs’ nails against the tile fading into white noise. The rest of the world is moving on, but Blaine feels like he’s standing still. He feels stuck, really, like he’s teetering at the edge of something and he just. Can’t. Move. He can’t move backward, because he can’t take back what he did, but he can’t move forward, either, because Kurt is freezing him out. It’s the worst sort of place to be in, completely out of his control, but it’s entirely his fault. He feels like the world has changed -- it_ has _, but it all looks the same. He just -- he wishes he’d hear from Kurt. It’s unnerving to walk down the halls and see the Titans’ red and white everywhere, to still have the privilege of color but not Kurt’s voice or presence or forgiveness. Seeing in black and white is commonly referred to as being in no-man’s land; it’s strange to be there in color._

_It’s taken Blaine three days to realize that there are more ways to apologize than just using his words; Kurt’s ignoring them, anyway, and Blaine figures it can’t hurt to use the resource of color while he still has it._

_He tracks the progress of the flowers all morning Tuesday with the number the company had e-mailed him. The last update --_ out for delivery _\-- was at 12:23 p.m. He’s been on edge ever since, waiting for delivery confirmation, for any indication that his gesture, his reminder, his plea, thawed Kurt out a little. Blaine isn’t ready to give up yet -- again. He won’t give up again._

_The world keeps on moving, and Blaine is expected to keep moving with it._

_He tries. He honest-to-god tries. He even organizes the first student council meeting of the year (and tries to ignore the fact that this is his job and he should be doing it anyway) and finds himself grateful he’d had the foresight to schedule it during his free period after lunch. It’ll at least be a temporary distraction while he waits for confirmation that the flowers have been delivered._

_It proves to be not enough, in the end. He doesn’t have the focus to lead the group, at least not right now, beyond introductions and pleasantries. He gives the floor to the people, because these are the people who elected him. They deserve to have their voices heard and their needs met, even if Kurt wasn’t --_

_Blaine shifts uncomfortably in his chair, immediately feeling guilty for the thought. This is_ his _fault. He reaches for his phone and checks it underneath the table as one of the boys makes an announcement about a new club, his stomach flipping in nervous anticipation upon reading the words_ delivered -- 1:10 p.m. __

_“Blaine?”_

_Blaine blinks up from his phone at Sam’s gentle prompting; flustered, he glances down at his agenda, fingers tracing over the blue ink. “Right, um -- the officers, those of us in glee club, wanted to make an announcement about the school musical.”_

_“Ooo, can I tell them?” Sugar gushes. “Please?”_

_Blaine smiles half-heartedly. “Sure, Sugar,” he says amiably, looking back down at his notebook, “go ahea --”_

_The ink is gone._

_Not gone, but not blue anymore, black and white and gray, when did the desk become gray --_

_“Blaine?”_

_It’s Tina this time and Blaine barely has to look up at her before he feels winded, like someone’s kicked him very hard right in the gut. His eyes shift from Tina to Sugar to Sam and he cannot_ breathe _. Black and white, black and white, the whole world is in black and white --_

_“Blaine?”_

_Sugar now and the whole room is waiting on him and he feels like he’s suffocating. “I --” He looks down at the phone in his hand._

_1:17 p.m._

_“Blaine?”_

_Sam again and Blaine needs to get out, needs air, needs an anchor. He pushes himself to his feet too quickly, startling some of the guide dogs. Sam makes to follow Blaine’s lead despite the look of confusion on his face, but Blaine manages a quick, mumbled “no, don’t -- excuse me” before stumbling his way to the classroom door, bookbag forgotten._

_Out the door and down the hallway to the double doors that lead to the outside stairwell, one foot in front of the other until he’s finally outside._

_The world doesn’t change._

_Hands trembling, Blaine reaches out for the railing and slowly sinks down to sit on a step. In, out, until his heart stops pounding and he feels like he can breathe again and_ the world is still in black and white. __

_Shaking his head, Blaine presses his palms hard against his eyes. He takes a moment to catch his breath again -- in, out, in, out. He removes his hands, lifts his head, opens his eyes --_

_He is officially in no-man’s land._

_He chokes out a dry sob and tries to reign himself in. It didn’t work. Kurt rejected the flowers, rejected Blaine. Blaine gave him color, red and yellow intertwined, and Kurt took it away, because Kurt has all of the power, because this is all Blaine’s fault, because he was so_ stupid _to have doubted what they had. Kurt is his soulmate, Blaine’s sight has told him that much for a year and a half, just like it’s telling him now._

_But this is where his problem lies. Before Kurt, Blaine had wanted to be able to ignore what his eyes were -- weren’t telling him. Now, after Kurt, Blaine only has his sight to tell him what he’s lost. And all of that goes against the point, the way the universe works. Blaine thought -- he’d really_ thought _that he’d been following his heart. He’s always thought that. But here, now, all he has are the black and white pieces of his broken heart._

_And in the middle of no-man’s land, Blaine has no direction at all._

* * * * *

Blaine ignores the way his heart pounds thunderously against his chest, ignores the way his breath comes out stilted and uneven. He pauses, just for a moment, before shifting on the bed to redirect his attention to his husband. “Kurt?” There’s no answer, no reaction or movement, but Kurt’s grown to be a heavy sleeper in his old age, Blaine rationalizes.

He tries again and reaches out a quivering hand, trying to find Kurt in the dark. “Kurt?” Still no response, but Blaine’s hand finds Kurt’s, just like it always does. Kurt is cold to touch, but Blaine dismisses that easily as the rain starts to pour harder and louder, splattering against the windowpane. Undiscouraged, Blaine tries weaving their fingers together, waits for Kurt to accommodate him. Still there’s nothing, just Kurt’s cold, stiff, unmoving fingers.

Blaine’s heart starts to beat more quickly as he slides his fingers to Kurt’s wrist and presses down, waiting. He starts to panic, now, because there’s still _nothing_ , not Kurt’s usual steady, strong pulse under his touch. Frantic, Blaine slides a hand up under Kurt’s nightshirt and settles his palm flat against Kurt’s chest; he curls in close again and presses his ear to Kurt’s chest, still waiting. And still, _still_ , there’s nothing, no breath or steady rise and fall or beat, there’s no _heartbeat_ \--

“Kurt,” he pleads quietly, “Kurt, please wake up.” Even as he says it, he knows it won’t happen, has known it since his eyes first opened this morning. But he can’t quite bring himself to _believe_ it yet, doesn’t trust what his senses are telling him. Because that’s not how the universe works; he’s supposed to trust his heart above all else, because it’s his heart that gave him his sight, because believing is seeing and Blaine’s heart is not ready for this. “Kurt,” he breathes, and the tears start to fall as his eyes slip shut. “Kurt,” he chokes out, chest seizing up a little as he starts to cry harder. “Kurt, please,” he begs. “Please, honey, wake up.”

* * * * *

_People say that all the world’s a stage. The stage is where Blaine has almost always felt most comfortable. It’s the place he can find a happy medium between what the world expects him to be and who he really is. On stage, Blaine can use music to express himself where he otherwise wouldn’t be able to._

_Tonight, on stage, he feels exposed._

_He doesn’t need color to know that his one scene in the musical is bathed in white. He hates it. He feels like the world can see every stain, every scar, every sin. Tonight, the world is the audience beyond the light. Tonight, Kurt can see all of his flaws. It’s not exactly new -- Kurt has always been able to see beyond the mask Blaine wears in public. Kurt has always been the one person Blaine has felt comfortable revealing his flaws to. But this? This is different. This is Kurt seeing him without really_ seeing _him. This is Kurt maybe looking past him or even through him. This is Kurt seeing Blaine’s flaws without really knowing or understanding how they came to be._

_On stage, Blaine is an angel, but he doesn’t feel like one._

_After curtain call, Blaine tries to navigate the hallways without wings._

_He’s reminded, when he finds Kurt with Rachel, that Kurt is wearing darker colors -- black, Blaine thinks, though he can’t be sure. Kurt is the dark to Blaine’s false light, but somehow it’s Kurt who is the beacon --_ Blaine’s _beacon. Kurt lights the way, winged and free, and even though he denies Blaine’s request and walks away, Blaine is still -- always -- drawn to him. Wherever Kurt leads, Blaine follows, so he does just that -- he follows, lost and searching for direction, for wings to anchor him. His words tumble out of him, jumbled and inarticulate and unable to get his point across, to say what he really means, to make Kurt_ understand _. Kurt leaves the words in his wake and tramples over them with his own._

_Blaine’s words don’t_ matter _._

_Kurt doesn’t_ trust him _._

_“This isn’t home anymore.”_

_And just like that, Kurt weighs anchor and leaves Blaine drifting._

* * * * *

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Blaine curls in on himself, buries his face in Kurt’s neck and _cries_ because this is so much more than losing his sight. Blaine doesn’t even care about that, doesn’t care that he’s been reclaimed by the dark because he’s lost Kurt to a different dark, one that Blaine can’t get to. He curls in closer, clings tighter, cries harder; he keeps his eyes squeezed firmly shut because if he can’t see the dark, then maybe he can delude himself into thinking that it doesn’t exist.

But it does, and it’s with another uncontrolled sob that Blaine realizes this is how his life began, how all life begins, in the dark. In the dark, reliant upon his other senses, listening and smelling and tasting, touching and finding the world real and tangible under his skin. He didn’t need his sight to know that the world existed, to know that he existed in it. He doesn’t need it now, doesn’t need to see the discoloration of Kurt’s skin, doesn’t need the visual confirmation to know that this is real, that Kurt is gone.

Kurt is gone.

The reality of it stabs at Blaine’s heart again. Kurt is gone and nothing is going to change that, no matter how much he wishes otherwise, no matter how much he cries, no matter how tightly he clings. Eventually, he’s going to have to let Kurt go and give him over to the impassable dark.

* * * * *

_On the stage in the auditorium, Blaine sits on the bottom of the steps and waits in the dark._

_In his hands, Kurt’s name lights up his phone. Blaine uses it as a beacon to guide him through the dark until he finds another light, hanging just over a ladder. Kurt’s voice floods his ears as he navigates, guiding him. “Hey, can you hear me?” The question gives Blaine pause, just for a second, because this, at least, is familiar to him. Kurt’s voice was the first Blaine knew of him. Blaine had offered his hand, back then, to guide Kurt when he had been lost. Now, with Kurt’s voice in his hand, Kurt is the one guiding him, anchoring him._

_Kurt always anchors him._

_Blaine doesn’t know how long he has it -- Kurt -- but he tries to take advantage of it while he can. He tries, but Kurt doesn’t let him, because Kurt_ knows _that Blaine is trying. He knows that Blaine is sorry, and Kurt believes him. Blaine still hasn’t earned his forgiveness, but it’s okay -- Blaine has Kurt’s understanding and belief and voice, and right now, that is enough to keep Blaine anchored, tethered to this spot under the light._

_“But it’s Thanksgiving,” Kurt says, and Blaine can tell by the tone in his voice that he’s trying to justify this, trying to justify this gift that Blaine is grateful for, trying to justify the black and white edges of his sight. “-- and… I miss you like crazy.”_

_The words hit him_ hard _. Kurt misses him. Kurt doesn’t miss the idea of Blaine or what he represents. Kurt doesn’t miss color. Kurt misses_ Blaine _, and it’s all a little too much. Blaine has always measured his self-worth by others, and the past few months have been no exception. He led the Warblers because they valued him for his talents. He stayed at McKinley because Sam rallied forces to make Blaine see how valued he was. And he exists -- existed -- in his own skin because Kurt had valued it, valued him. And now, while Blaine is still trying to not feel like such a bad person all of the time, Kurt still finds value in him._

_Under light in black and white, Blaine struggles to breathe even as Kurt’s words give him the air to do it, and anchored, Blaine drowns._

_There’s a pause, and when Kurt speaks again, his voice is thick, uneven, wavering. “And I can’t stand not talking to you even though I’m mad at you… because you’re still my best friend.” And even though Kurt’s voice sounds nervous, careful, calculated and maybe a little unsure, Blaine knows why he says it and what he really means. Kurt says ‘best friend’ and it’s true, but there’s more there, between the lines. Kurt needs this phone call, this conversation, as much as Blaine does, and it’s all because Blaine_ knows _what Kurt wants to say after ‘you’re still’ -- what he wants to say, but can’t. Not yet._

_You’re still my soulmate._

_And finally, finally, Blaine resurfaces toward the light hanging above him and feels like he can breathe again. “You’re mine, too.”_

* * * * *

Blaine isn’t ready to let go. He should be. He’s eighty-six years old. He’s known for a very long time that this was something that would potentially be in his future; he’s had so long to prepare for it -- or, at least he feels like he should have (or maybe he never prepared because he didn’t want to). It shouldn’t come as a total shock to him, but it does. It takes hold of him and grips him hard and vice-like until he feels like he can’t breathe.

Blaine pulls away just enough to get a little more air, gasping. He’s _eighty-six_ and his body is not equipped to handle this kind of heartbreak anymore. He’s not eighteen anymore. He hasn’t cried this hard in years, decades, even. He’s going to have to stop, eventually, before it’s too much for his body to handle. And if he’s going to give himself any sort of relief, he’s going to have to let go of Kurt.

And it’s that, the realization that Blaine is going to _have_ to let go, and soon, that makes him hold on a little tighter, a little longer. This is his last chance to be alone with Kurt, even though Kurt’s not _with_ him anymore (and there it is again, that sharp, painful stab to the heart that just won’t go away, _why won’t it go away_ ).

Blaine pulls away a little more and tries to steady his breathing. He runs his fingertips across the back of Kurt’s knuckles, follows the arch of his receding hairline down to the curve of his jaw. Blaine can feel the wetness his tears have left there, along the underside, splashed across Kurt’s chin and neck. It feels like so _much_ , trying to commit this one last memory of Kurt to his mind, to his sense of touch and not sight. But in so many ways, Blaine is grateful for the loss of sight. It means his last memories of Kurt won’t be tainted by what Kurt looks like in death. There’s so much else to taint this, the faint smell of urine and the way Kurt’s skin has begun to turn waxy, but Blaine ignores it all in favor of relishing in the fact that Kurt is still here, still Blaine’s to have and to hold until --

* * * * *

_In the car, there is a moment. It happens when Kurt puts the brakes on, when he has a moment of self-doubt and mentions someone else. Blaine absolutely does not care because it doesn’t matter -- Kurt is here in Ohio with Blaine. They’ve been making out in the back of this car for at least twenty minutes and right now (always), he belongs to Blaine. This moment is Blaine’s and he fully intends to own it as long as it lasts. So he does what he has to to keep it; he makes excuses and justifications and compliments Kurt’s tie and arches back up for another kiss._

_It’s then, just before their lips meet, that something in Kurt’s eyes shifts and changes. Blaine doesn’t have the patience to figure out exactly what it is, but he recognizes some of it. There’s a little bit of familiarity there, comfort and longing and absolute abandon. And it’s then, just before their lips meet, that Blaine’s vision flickers and warms back into color._

_Kurt’s eyes are blue, and Blaine can’t pull him back down into a kiss fast enough._

_Kurt’s lips are gone again all too soon, taking color with them. “Wait,” he gasps. “This doesn’t mean that we’re back together, right?”_

_Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember how to breathe a little. His heart_ aches _, because this is all he wants. He wants what color represents. He wants Kurt. He_ wants _to be back together, of course he does. He never wanted to be apart in the first place. But he remembers what it was like before he could see. He remembers Kurt’s frustration at Blaine’s need for the ability to choose, remembers how much he himself_ needed _that. Blaine needed the time to let his heart catch up to what Kurt’s eyes had been telling him for months. And even though this is different, even though there is history between them and they both can see in black and white right now, Blaine knows how important it is to feel like he -- Kurt -- has a choice._

_So he settles and gives Kurt control._

_They’re interrupted by Mercedes not long after, but they’re hardly apart for long. The wedding doesn’t go according to plan, but the reception does, and even though they’ve both technically come as other people’s dates, they spend most of it attached at the hip. The chemistry is still there, on stage, and for the first time in a long time, Blaine feels at home in his own skin._

_It’s not until a little later, when they’re cheek-to-cheek on the dance floor, that it happens again. Kurt is curled in close as they sway slowly, Blaine’s hands anchored on his back. And again, it’s comfortable, familiar. Blaine nuzzles his face a little closer, eyes fluttering open, and his vision floods with reds and pinks._

_The colors fade as Kurt pulls away. Blaine doesn’t see the blue of his eyes this time, but that warm, familiar feeling doesn’t go away. “I have a room,” Kurt murmurs, low and inviting. “Shall we… finish what we started earlier?”_

_And for the first time in months, Blaine feels something flicker in his heart._

_Hope._

_He gives his consent with a nod and a breathless “okay,” and together, they make their way upstairs to room 206._

_It’s not quite the same as before. They’ve never had sex like this, when they can only see in black and white. Kurt is still in control, but Blaine doesn’t mind; he’s the one who gave it to Kurt in the first place. It’s what Kurt deserves, after what Blaine’s done, and if this is what Kurt chooses to do with it -- draw a line in the sand, build a wall around his heart -- then Blaine has to be okay with it. Kurt is a guarded person in general -- that’s not new -- but he was never quite this guarded with Blaine. His movements are careful, at first, calculated and controlling. It’s not quite the give and take that Blaine’s used to, but it’s_ okay _. He lets Kurt have control, lets Kurt make the moves, lets Kurt do what he wants. Blaine is still very much a willing participant._

_Blaine may not have a choice, but he still -- always -- chooses Kurt._

_And the longer they’re in the hotel room, the more layers they divest, the more uninhibited Kurt seems to become. He lets himself get lost in Blaine’s mouth and pulls Blaine into his lap and slowly, slowly, the walls start to come down. Blaine murmurs Kurt’s name into his skin -- his chest, his neck, his ear, his shoulder. And when they’re well into it -- naked and sweaty and breathless and trembling -- it happens again. Blaine pulls back and meets Kurt’s blue with his own hazel, and this time, Kurt doesn’t pull away. He clutches Blaine tighter and whispers Blaine’s name, and the colors do not fade._

_It takes Blaine’s breath away, to have color for so long, to see Kurt’s eyes blue and warm and a little sleepy as they curl up under the covers together, fingers interlaced. Blaine gets a little lost in them -- him -- and doesn’t know how long they lie there before Kurt stretches a little and yawns. “We should get up,” he mumbles, clearly still a little out of it. “Get dressed. Go back downstairs.” Blaine agrees with a nod, because he has color and not words, and together, they roll out of bed and start to pull layers back on._

_But it’s not just the layers, Blaine realizes after a few minutes. He can see the changes in Kurt as he gets dressed. Blaine’s always likened it to watching Kurt put on his armor, like he’s getting ready for battle, and as Blaine perches himself at the foot of the bed, he can see the walls start to go back up._

_And still, color._

_He watches Kurt in the reflection of the mirror, watches Kurt’s nimble fingers do up the buttons of his shirt, notices the way his skin glows and his breathing is more controlled and his hair is a little mussed. He looks_ beautiful _like this, colored in and all Blaine’s, and Blaine’s heart practically beats out of his chest. “Tell me now that we’re not back together.”_

_Kurt meets his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, and for a split second, the world narrows down to blue meeting hazel._

_And then the second passes, and the blue -- all color -- is gone._

_Kurt’s eyes shift away and he’s making excuses that Blaine doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t believe them. The earlier mere flicker of hope in Blaine’s chest is now_ burning _, raging, fueling him. It gives fire and passion to his words and pushes him to his feet, grabbing Kurt’s jacket and moving to close the distance between them. “It’s no accident that we were together on Christmas, and again on Valentine’s Day. And we’re going to be together for many, many more,” he insists as he helps Kurt into the jacket, because he believes it now, hopes for it more than he ever, ever as before. He smooths out the shoulders of the jacket and anchors his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. Again, the actions are familiar, comfortable, and their eyes meet in the mirror. “No matter how much you pretend that this doesn’t mean anything.”_

_A beat, and then Kurt is turning to face him. He leans in close, eyes flicking down to Blaine’s lips, and as he opens his mouth to reply, Blaine feels his heart skip a beat. “I’ll see you downstairs,” Kurt whispers, meeting his eyes again. And again, they hold the gaze for a second, and even though the color is gone, Blaine can see the old, familiar spark behind Kurt’s eyes._

_Not yet._

_The door clicks shut behind Kurt, and hope lifts Blaine to his feet._

* * * * *

The tears start to fall again, weakening his resolve. He leans in close, cradles Kurt’s face with his hand, runs his thumb over the wrinkles and laugh lines Kurt had long ago resigned himself to. Blaine tries to remember the last image he has of Kurt’s face, tries to keep the slightly weathered skin and the sweep of silver hair Kurt had been so proud to still have, the tug of a smile at his lips as he looked at Blaine tiredly, the eyes that were still so piercingly blue even after all these years. It’s all only a memory now, one that’s certain to fade over time, but Blaine clings to it, clings to Kurt and presses their lips together. It may only be a memory, but it’s how Blaine wants to remember him, how he wants to say goodbye.

Goodbye.

He realizes, very belatedly, that it was Kurt who promised never to say goodbye. And he kept that promise, right up until the very end. Blaine’s suddenly very glad that he never promised the same in return. He’d have to break it now, if he had.

Blaine whispers _I love you_ while they’re still alone, even if Kurt can’t hear him. He reaches out blindly for the call button on the nightstand, hand smacking against the wood as he fumbles for it, refusing to relinquish his hold on Kurt. He finally hits it and hears the faint beep signaling one of the nurses on duty to come into their room. There’s a limit to the time he has, now, and he pillows his head against Kurt’s shoulder and waits, letting Kurt anchor him one last time. Blaine can’t seem to stop _crying_ , can’t even bring himself to compose himself for the nurse who’s about to walk in.

That’s how she finds him, still crying and clinging to Kurt and barely breathing. Blaine still feels so _small_ like this, alone and afraid of not having a safe place to land. He feels a lot younger than his eighty-six years, and even if he weren’t crying, he thinks it must show because the nurse’s voice is quiet and full of concern when she asks, “Mr. Anderson-Hummel, what’s wrong?”

* * * * *

_The only sound in the choir room is the steady tick-tick-tick of the metronome._

_Tucked away against the piano, Blaine digs his phone out of his pocket and follows Mr. Schuester’s instructions to start texting and tweeting. Mom is still the first contact up in messages, the most recent of which are from lunch earlier today when they’d been texting about plans for dinner tonight. Thankful, Blaine sends her a quick message informing her of what’s happening and a plea not to call him -- he can’t talk to her right now. He has to stay quiet, that much has been made clear to him since the first question came out of his mouth a minute ago._

_And in the quiet of the tick-tick-tick, Blaine remembers Mr. Schuester’s words earlier in the week._

__There is nothing worse than unfinished business with the one you love. __

_Without hesitation, Blaine sets his phone to silent and opens up Kurt’s message window._ If you lose your sight today, just know that I love you. _He hits send, and then, as an afterthought, adds_ don’t call, text. _There are phones buzzing all around him, but in the dark, Blaine has light in his hands._

_It takes Kurt less than a minute to respond, but the minute is all Blaine needs to feel the panic start to settle in. His heart starts to beat in alternate time with the metronome as he reads Kurt’s reply._ What’s going on? You’re scaring me. __

_Blaine’s response is brief and to the point. His hands shake as he taps out the answer._ Possible gunshots at school. On lockdown in the choir room. __

_It takes a little longer for Kurt to respond, more than a minute this time, maybe two. Blaine can only imagine what it must be like for him to be getting these messages, but these messages are all they have right now._ Be safe _, followed by,_ I love you, too. _The words don’t bring Blaine color, but for the first time, he finds that he doesn’t_ care _. Because the alternative to this is not something Blaine wants to think about._

_Then Artie pulls out his camera, explains, “If we don’t get out of here, people need to see this,” and Blaine is_ forced _to think about it._

_If Blaine doesn’t get out of here, Kurt will_ never _see this._

_Blaine buries his head in his arm and closes his eyes._

_The metronome ticks on._

* * * * *

He feels very suddenly like he can’t breathe at all, and it’s with a gasp that he says, “I can’t see,” because it’s easier to tell her that than it is to tell her what it means, because he can’t bring himself to say the words, can’t even bring himself to think them in explicit terms. He hears her let out a soft _oh_ , knows that she probably says more before she leaves the room, but Blaine’s world narrows to Kurt again with ease, clinging until he’s told he has to let go.

And that’s what she does upon her return. She brings more people with her, Blaine knows this but he doesn’t care. It takes her hand settling gently on his shoulder for him to really acknowledge her again, and it’s with the utmost care that she says, “Blaine, they have to take him.” He closes his eyes at that and wishes more than ever that it shut the world out. But it means nothing now, because his eyes are always in the dark and he has to let go of his anchor. Blaine reaches over one last time to rest his hand on top of Kurt’s and lingers over Kurt’s wedding band. It takes everything Blaine has in him -- which admittedly isn’t very much these days -- to pull himself away and roll over onto his side of the bed.

He _aches_ , the stabbing sensation back in full force, and he runs a weathered hand through his thinning gray hair, fisting a handful of it as if it will keep him together, as if it will stop him from drifting. He doesn’t even realize he’s trembling until the nurse’s hand finds his shoulder again. “Blaine,” she ventures timidly, “are you okay?”

Blaine reaches out his hand and is met with an empty space on the other side of the mattress. He lets go, then, and loses the half of himself that’s still left to aimless drifting. He manages to keep the tears at bay until he opens his mouth to answer her.

“No,” he says. “I’m not okay.”

* * * * *

_With Kurt’s hand in his, Blaine knows that everything will be okay._

_He thinks he’s always known that, really, from the very first time he ever took Kurt’s hand. He knew it earlier in the week when Kurt had accompanied him to the regional OSA office to file his most recent status change, hands clasped between them. And today, he knows it just outside the front doors of Dalton, music playing and voices lifting behind him._

_Blaine offers out his hand, and Kurt takes it._

_Because then, now, always, their hands have been there to guide each other when their eyes have been unable._

_Here, now, at the bottom of the stairs with Kurt’s hands clasped firmly in his, Blaine knows that they are able. And it’s not because they can see, although Blaine has admittedly used their recent regain of color to his advantage today. This is the place they met. This is the place that Kurt first saw himself. This is the place Blaine first heard him. This is the place where Blaine’s soul knew what his mind and his body didn’t know yet. This is the place where -- with canine vision and hands clasped between them -- they first trusted each other._

_Blaine wants that trust for always. He wants this -- this beautiful, breathing, explosion of color and the way Kurt’s hand fits into his and a ring on that finger and an anchor -- then, now, always._

_Fearlessly and forever._

_He watches his words translated for him as he speaks, the hands of the Haverbrook students pressed against each others’ as they pass his speech between their hands like a game of telephone, fast and fluid and beautiful. He watches each of the lifetimes he talks about change and mutate and shift and blend into one another in their fingers and hands, over and over, for all eternity._

_Blaine’s eyes find Kurt’s again with ease, and under a dome of light, Blaine feels lucky that his heart is caught up in his eyes. “Because all I want to do -- all I’ve ever wanted to do -- is spend my life loving you.” And then, with the small black box in his hand, Blaine addresses Kurt for all that he is -- Blaine’s one true love, his amazing best friend._

_His soulmate._

_Down on one knee, Blaine asks Kurt to color his irises for all eternity._

_Kurt says yes._

_Kurt says_ yes _, and the answer lifts Blaine to his feet. He leans in for a kiss immediately, warm and enveloping, and as his hand cradles Kurt’s jaw, Blaine remembers the first time their lips had met. They’d seen in color instantly afterward in a room just down the hall from here, and even though Blaine hadn’t known what it was back then, he’d known how it made him feel. Now, they pull apart, blue meeting hazel, and Blaine can’t fight back his smile at how breathless Kurt sounds as Blaine slips the ring onto his finger. It’s not until Blaine pulls him back into his arms that Kurt speaks again, and with their arms tight around each other, Kurt nuzzles Blaine’s neck, lips close to Blaine’s ear._

_“I like color,” Kurt whispers. “I like the way it makes me feel.”_

_Blaine exhales slowly and clings to Kurt a little tighter. It’s what he’d said himself, when they’d first kissed a little over two years ago. Kurt had led him to color, the way Kurt has always led him to everything. Color has always felt different. It’s always made_ him _feel different. He’d started out in the dark, an outline waiting to be filled in. And with Kurt -- with love -- had come shades of black and white and gray to add complexity and dimensions and layers. It’s not -- it’s not as if Blaine hasn’t known himself outside of Kurt, but Kurt had brought him color, filled in the lines and spaces with swatches and hues and pieces that had been missing. The past seven months of a life (mostly) without color have given Blaine the opportunity to reevaluate the older pieces, the shades of gray that he alone takes up in the outline. And as much as he’s missed color -- as much as he’s missed_ Kurt _\-- Blaine is grateful that he had the opportunity. He feels like he doesn’t just know himself better now -- he feels more secure in himself, feels like the parts that are him and him alone are much more well-defined, sharper in clarity. And now, with color back -- with Kurt back -- Blaine feels so much more_ whole _than he ever has before._

_He likes color and he likes the way it makes him feel, that’s true enough, but he_ loves _Kurt, and he loves the way Kurt makes him feel._

_“Thank you,” Kurt laughs wetly into Blaine’s neck, and oh, he must finally have let himself start crying._

_Blaine pulls back a little and cups Kurt’s face in his hands again. “For what, silly?”_

_Kurt rolls his eyes a little in an attempt to compose himself, hands anchored in Blaine’s lapel. “For hearing me,” Kurt says, laugh tapering off as his eyes find Blaine’s again. A warm smile, and then, “For seeing me. For helping me see myself. For --” He stops, reaches down to grip one of Blaine’s hands with his own, and when Kurt looks back up, Blaine can see his heart in his eyes. “For finding me.”_

_Blaine blinks into a smile and lifts Kurt’s newly adorned hand to his lips, kissing the ring he’s just put there. “I think you found me, this time.”_

_Kurt arches an eyebrow at him, amused and playful. “Even though you were the one who said that_ you’d _been looking for_ me _forever?”_

_“Yeah, well.” Blaine slides a hand around Kurt’s waist and rests his forehead against Kurt’s. “Maybe we found each other this time around.”_

_Kurt’s smile reaches his eyes, bright and blue and breathtaking, and he wiggles his fingers, the ring catching the light from the dome above them. “Well, I promise you won’t have to go looking for me again for a long while.”_

_Blaine captures Kurt’s hand with his own, bringing it to rest over his heart. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, lips brushing against Kurt’s to capture color again. “I will always find you.”_

* * * * *


End file.
